


Dabbling in Slash Fiction, by John H. Watson-Holmes

by Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal, Any comments about "top/bottom" will be deleted, Blog, Candycane - Freeform, Christmas, Christmas present, Crack Fic, Gay couples aren't by default Dom's or subs, Get that idea out of your head, John Watson blog, Johnlock Advent Fic 2020, M/M, Or Is It?, Sex Toys, Sherlock Takes over John's blog, Sherlock is going to get shot, Smut, Sort Of, married, read the fic, that last tag is a joke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: John writes about an... experience... Sherlock finds it and posts it to John's blog.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 66
Collections: 2020 Advent Collection Johnlock Style





	Dabbling in Slash Fiction, by John H. Watson-Holmes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BRNZ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRNZ/gifts).



> This was modeled after http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/  
> My advent prompt was: CANDY CANES

A/N: Hello, this is Sherlock! Surprise! John’s passed out on the sofa. He and Greg went to the pub tonight to celebrate the New Year, and I do believe he’s had one too many. I was about to use his laptop to do some research on well… if you’d like to know what, go to my website. I do have one, a website, you know. John didn’t invent the internet, contrary to what most of you believe. I found this word document saved on his desktop and figured it would be a shame not to post it. It does, however, need a bit of an introduction. 

You see, I find him hard to buy for. He’s a man who wants for little in life. Food, a quiet place to sleep (sorry about that one, John.), and a bit of human touch. (Sex, I mean sex. Which we have a great deal of.) If the occasional case drags him away from his humdrum life and adds a bit of excitement to his days, all the better. He is not the type of man to covet the newest tool at a hardware shop or a fancy race car; he doesn’t even collect stamps. So, each year when Christmas rolls around, I struggle with the perfect gift for him. 

This year with our relationship being different than in the past. (That would be the sex again.) I decided that broadened the range of gifts considerably. What with the wide variety of sex toys on the market now. I spent quite a bit of money on him this year, and while he didn’t appreciate that I had him open them in front of Mrs. Hudson, we’ve spent the past week thoroughly enjoying them.

So much so that it appears he decided to write about it. I’ve always said he romanticized our cases, and here’s proof that this is where John’s real talent lies. See for yourself.

-SWH

* * *

  
  
  


I’m not even sure why I’m writing this down. Habit, perhaps? Usually, the holidays are filled with case after case, while the world around us goes haywire. This Christmas, we had nothing on. No cases, no criminal masterminds were threatening our lives, no overbearing older brother spying on us. (I hope.) 

Mrs. Hudson spent the morning with us, which was nice. Aside from the fact that Sherlock had me open my gifts in front of her. I am terribly sorry, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock, it seems, had bought out the entire stock of an adult novelty store. Well, at least the bits that applied to our lifestyle. (No bullet vibrators, I mean to say.) Aside from the terrible embarrassment, I think we all felt, I immensely enjoyed the gifts.

Nestled in a bit of soft foam was one in particular that stood out to me. It was clear glass, with a red strip woven around on the inside. The toy itself was bent into the shape of a cane, and with the colouring, it looked exactly like a large candy cane. Those of you who know me know that while I’m not a connoisseur of sweets, I eat my weight in candy canes each Christmas season. 

Needless to say, as soon as Mrs. Hudson left to visit her sister, I got up and locked both doors leading into the flat. I often find myself thankful that Sherlock has a particularly crafty habit of hiding lube around the flat, and that moment was no exception. I found a small bottle of it hidden behind some books on the shelf by the door. Turning to my husband, I gave him a wry smile and held up the bottle.

“I do believe I’d like a candy cane inside my arse now if you’d be so kind.” 

He was more than happy to oblige. 

I’d gotten Sherlock a fluffy dressing gown and slipper set, made out of cashmere. (Because he insists on walking about in nothing but his dressing gowns. And frankly, I was sick of ice-cold toes pressing against my thighs when he decided to grace me with his presence in bed.) He stripped both off, not wanting to ruin the cashmere, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Arching a brow, I looked down at where he sat on the floor, beside the tree.

“Not joining me?” 

It only took a smirk and a playful wink before he was reaching for the buttons on his shirt. We took the box of toys, and ourselves, closer to the fire where the drafty old house had less chance to chill us to the bone. I grabbed the union jack pillow from my chair and used it to cushion my elbows as I got down on my hands and knees. Sherlock settled behind me and was soon showering my arse with soft touches and playful nips. 

I was hard in no time, and I could tell by the way his breathing had changed that he was just as aroused as I was. The pop of the cap on the bottle of lube sent chills down my body as I anticipated Sherlock’s next move. To show what a caring lover he is, I feel it necessary to add that Sherlock took the time to warm the lube up between his fingers. So when his finger pressed against me, it was pleasant and not at all cold or shocking. 

I have a habit of rushing this process, as I do not require much in the way of preparation before intercourse. I enjoy the stretch and burn and do not find it at all painful with Sherlock, who is against all odds a kind lover. However, Sherlock finds great pleasure in making me squirm with his fingers alone. He could spend hours on that act alone. So, as it was Christmas, I simply wiggled my arse and shot him a grin over my shoulder. Genius that he is, he understood my grin for what it was. An invitation to have his way with me. With a boyish smile, he slipped a second finger inside me. 

Have you ever looked,  _ really looked _ , at Sherlock’s fingers? They’re the fingers of a musician, long and dexterous, with surprising strength. I love his fingers. I love to watch them when they’re working on a delicate instrument like his violin or his microscope. The skill he possesses when handling fragile slides astonishes me. And when those fingers are turned against (or shall I say for) me? Oh, the wondrous things they can do. 

“Are you my Christmas present, John?” Sherlock purred, and his rich voice sent shivers down my spine, despite the warmth of the fire. I heard a rustling behind me, then something sticky was being pressed against my tailbone. “You always give the best gifts… I can’t wait to  _ open _ you.” 

I twisted around to see a giant red bow, stolen from one of the presents, stuck to my lower back. I was in the process of laughing when Sherlock gently sank his teeth into the meatier flesh just above my thigh. He didn’t bite hard, but with just enough pressure that my laugh turned into a lude moan. My devious husband uttered a pleased laugh then sat up straight behind me. 

Before long, I was drooling against the rug in our sitting room. My arse was up in the air, and considering the noise I was making, I was thankful that Mrs. Hudson had left the flat. He spent the next several minutes (I confess I don’t know the actual amount of time. It could have been five minutes, or it could have been an hour.) teasing me with those long fingers of his. They would dip inside me, stretch me open, and press against my prostate with random strokes. Sherlock had learned early on in our relationship that random works best with me, rather than a steady rhythm.  
  
I was so engrossed in his fingers, trying to figure out what the next touch would bring, that I didn't hear him open the lube. However, I did feel Sherlock shift behind me and managed to stop my drooling long enough to see him rise on his knees and take himself in one hand. He was enjoying this as much as I was, and the thought sent me back to drooling into the rug. 

“I believe my gift has been thoroughly opened… shall we see if this end enjoys candy canes as much as your mouth does?” His fingers slipped out of me, and I was left wanting, though not for very long.

The candy cane was quite a bit thicker in circumference than anything we’d used in the past, and I found myself thankful for Sherlock’s ministrations. Still, Sherlock took his time introducing me to the toy. He spent several long, antagonizing moments, merely rubbing it against my hole. Then slowly, he began working it inside me. 

The stretch was unlike anything I’ve ever felt; the glass was firm and unyielding. But once it was inside me, I practically burned with pleasure. The glass toy had quite possibly, the smoothest slide I’ve ever felt, and somehow Sherlock had warmed it before use. (I suspect he placed it close to the fire, where it had soaked up some of the heat.) 

There is something about being thoroughly sodomized by a glass candy cane that renders the memory spotty at best. I can’t recall much of what happened once the toy pressed against the chestnut sized bundle of nerves inside me. I vaguely remember Sherlock talking me through the pleasure, telling me how gorgeous I looked, and something about how he’d never be able to look at a candy cane the same. 

I was sent over the edge quickly and had just enough foresight to cup myself with my fist before I came hard with the candy cane shaped toy buried deep inside me. And I do remember, with stark clarity, Sherlock finishing deep inside me. He had been close to the edge already, and it only took several deep thrusts until his moan joined the sound of the crackling fire.

Also, I remember the long drawn out cuddle by the fire until it finally grew chilly enough that we were forced to clean up and put clothes on. (Neither of us, for a good twenty minutes, were willing to get up and put more wood on.) Sherlock would probably kill me if I told anyone of his love for cuddling, but god, I love it. I love the way his limbs wrap around me, how his head instantly settles over my heart. I love his soft hands, stroking my exposed skin, and how he feels comfortable enough with my body to simply let his hand relax over my cock. 

On my first day with him, if someone had told me that life could be like this, I dare say our last few years might have been happier ones. Still, I have him now, and he has me. In fact, he’ll be hard-pressed to get rid of me. I love that prat, from the bottom of my heart.

The exchange that followed, once we were both dressed, still has me smiling as I write this.

“So, John… I believe it is safe to say that the whole of you enjoys candy canes equally.” Sherlock smirked at me as he settled in his chair, wearing nothing but his new dressing gown and fluffy red slippers.   
  
“I quite enjoyed that, my dear.” I grinned back, handing him a cup of hot chocolate with a mini candy cane stuck inside the hot liquid. 

He smirked down at the sweet, then plucked it out of his mug, spending a full solid minute licking the chocolate off the end.

“If I hadn’t just finished, my cock would be twitching at the sight of that tongue of yours…” 

“Oh?” He gave me a satisfied yet smug look, then went back to licking the candy cane. “So, you liked your gifts?”

“Love them, Sherlock. But you already knew that.” 

I swear, Sherlock brings out the randy teenager in me again. We spent the next ten minutes or so grinning at each other over the brims of our mugs like schoolboys. Get yourself a partner that keeps you young, and who makes every day an adventure. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Do I get a consignment prize for hooking the two of you up? A nice bottle of wine, perhaps?    
Mike Stamford 31 December

If Mike gets a prize, then so do I for putting up with you two. The noise you make! But I’m glad you’re both happy, dears.   
Mrs Hudson 1 January

Sherlock, perhaps you should come into the office so we can discuss personal boundaries? The session is on me. How does Tuesday work, 9am?  
E  Thompson 1 January 

Oh my, that was better than those cheap romance novels I picked up at the library. John, perhaps you should write a novel?  
Dame Latif 1 January

Why can’t we post gifs here? You know that one with the lady spraying herself with the spray bottle? John, this was steamy.  
Anonymous 1 January 

I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
John Watson-Holmes 1 January 

You’ll have to find me first, John.  
Sherlock Watson-Holmes 1 January 

Ella, have anything earlier?   
John Watson-Holmes 1 January 

I’ll call you.  
E Thompson 1 January 

Mate, can you not just delete this? Or keep it up… I think we’re enjoying this entry quite a bit.   
Jacob Sowersby 2 January

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of our 25 days of Johnlock Christmas! <3 Hopefully this collection goes smoothly, and you all enjoy it! 
> 
> Gifting this to BRNZ for all the hard work she's put into helping me better myself as a writer. Not sure if it shows in this fic, but, regardless I've had fun with this! I especially enjoy John and Ella in the comments!
> 
> ********************************************
> 
> I've already gotten one comment regarding "John is SUCH a bottom" and before you leave any more comments regarding that, please read this (then take those top/bottom comments elsewhere. Pretty please and thank you)
> 
> ~~~  
> Seeing straight people get so invested in whether or not a character is a top or bottom makes me want to throw up. Weirdly enough, there are no huge tumblr fights over how Jack Frost and Elsa fuck - yet there is (fighting) for every single gay ship. 
> 
> I'm not against straight people enjoying gay relationships, or smutty stuff. But this obsession on who bottoms like it's an integral part of a paring is gross and I wish straight people would stop. In real life, preferred position (if they even have one) has no bearing on the personality of the person, the dynamics of the relationship, or any other fetishy nonsense you got from reading too much yaoi - ScavengerQueen on Tumblr
> 
> **This said, I HAVE, in the past, written top/bottom very specifically. But that was when I knew very little.  
> When I write my omegaverse now, it is never mean to be as a specific top/bottom. I will do better by the LGBT+ community now that I know more. - Tindo


End file.
